


A Study In Romance

by applesmokedgouda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day, johnlock challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applesmokedgouda/pseuds/applesmokedgouda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for LeafZelindor for the Johnlock Challenges Valentine's Day exchange. I hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study In Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeafZelindor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafZelindor/gifts).



For John Watson, the days seemed to meld together. It seemed that but a week ago, it was Autumn, yet as he stepped out of the hospital and onto the street, tightening his coat, he realized it was the middle of Winter. A light snow was falling; and John was glad. The desert he had experienced during the war was too hot, too dry. He simply stood for a moment, relishing the feeling of home, until the buzzing of his phone brought him back to reality.

Baker Street.  
-SH.

Simple, direct, and to the point; that was Sherlock Holmes. His flatmate, his best friend, his partner-in-(solving)-crime. He re-read the short text. Another case, perhaps? The doctor grinned. Good. He needed a distraction.

On the way. What's the case?  
-JW.

He texted back before hailing a cab. A quick set of directions to the cabbie, and John waited for the reply that was sure to come swiftly. It came just after he turned on to Baker Street.

Just get here. Now.  
-SH.

John decided to mock the detective, by deducing something from his late reply (even if it sounded like he was trying too hard).

Took you a full three minutes and 58 seconds to reply. Something wrong?  
-JW

John paid the cabbie, and walked up the street to the flat. “Sherlock?” he called, excited for a new case. He knew how the petulant detective got when he was bored; and now John felt that same itch.

As he passed Mrs. Hudson's door, he was greeted with a shy, knowing smile, which he hesitantly returned with a curt nod. Halfway up the stairs, his senses were assaulted. First came his nose. The strange smell combination of... He sniffed. Meat? And... Vanilla? Next came the sound of violin, which, when Sherlock played, was elegant and graceful; but now the notes seemed to stumble over each other in an attempt to get out as quickly as possible. John Watson didn't know what, but something was going on. He raced up the stairs, and when he reached his shared flat, threw open the door. What he saw was... well, it wasn't what he expected, that's for sure.

The sitting area of the flat was filled with candles. Anywhere flat (or close enough) held at least three candle, burning brightly. Sherlock Holmes greeted him, stumbling over the notes of the violin piece, with an odd look of concentration on his face. “John.”

“Sherlock... What-what's going on?”

“I believe this is customary.” the detective replied, trying his best to seem nonchalant, but was failing miserably. He set his violin down.

“Customary? What custom?” John was still miserably confused.

Sherlock sighed, exasperated, embarrassed, and, frankly, anxious. “Here. Dinner. Sit.”

John was awed, as the whole of the kitchen was devoid of both experiments and body parts. He obeyed, sitting down at the table which the pair so rarely used, and was served a plate of steak and potatoes. Sherlock served himself a similar setting, but was too nervous to eat, and instead gauged John's reaction to the food.

He took a bite of the potatoes first; cold potatoes were nobody's friend. John's eyes rolled back in his head; the taste was so good. “Sherlock, if you've drugged me... Well, I don't care. This food is incredible.”

The detective grinned, then jumped up, remembering something. “Wine.” he muttered to himself. “People drink wine on these sort of occasions.”

“Sherlock...” John began as his glass was poured and set in front of him. “What sort of occasions? Please tell me what's going on.”

“John, have you any idea of the date?” He asked, exasperated. 

The doctor fumbled for his phone. “Of course I do, it's obviously... Winter... It's...” He lit up the device to display the date. “14 February.”

“Yes...” The detective encouraged.

“2010?” The doctor tried.

“No, John.”

A wave of understanding flashed across John's face. “Oh! Oh, you mean... Oh.”

“John, you may know that I do not do well with ordinary emotions.”

John snickered.

“But my, um, my feelings for you are not ordinary.”

John could tell this speech was rehearsed, and he smiled, faintly.

“John Watson, when I see you, my brain floods with dopamine, and adrenaline, and my heart rate increases dramatically. I'm not... I don't know how to feel, or how to articulate... I-”

The detective was cut off when John Watson, stood up, pulled him down to his level by his shirt collar, and kissed him. “I love you too.” He whispered against his mouth.


End file.
